


A Memory No One Can Steal

by lucdarling



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each step is a little harder to take, as if he's moving underwater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Memory No One Can Steal

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written anonymously for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/1854.html?thread=109118#t109118) on October 22, 2011.

Ten minutes tick past on his watch before Phil Coulson starts forward, moving away from his protected position and into the battle site. He's too far away to hear if the sounds of the fight have died down, but he figures they must have by now. The Avengers had a fairly routine mission: locate bad guy's lair, infiltrate and wreak havoc so there would be no more bad guy surprises to terrorize the unassuming public. It shouldn't have taken this long. He's tempted to blame Loki for whatever the hold up is (the god of mischief has been helping the initiative when he feels like it, mostly to get one over on other bad guys. Phil thinks maybe the god has adopted the six as his playthings and decided no-one else should get the privilege of harming them.) but something in Phil's gut tells him this isn't Loki's fault. The field agent runs to the door of the barn, drawing his Glock 17 as he peers through the open door from around the corner. He sees two black-clad figures lying on the floor and then Tony lands in front of him, blocking his view with red and gold. The metal hand lands on his shoulder as Tony flips the faceplate up and stares at Phil as he holsters his sidearm.

Phil pushes past him when the man opens his mouth – whatever Tony's going to say, he doesn't want to hear it right now. Thor and Loki are kneeling by the bodies and he watches them remove their cloaks and gently lay them over the bodies. Everything is so quiet, tension heavy in the room and Phil has the sudden hysterical urge to cough or crack a deadpan joke. He knows Clint would appreciate the respite and Natasha would probably roll her eyes almost fondly when one of the team then explained it to Thor, but the words stick in his throat instead. Phil wonders how Clint would break the tension.

“Phil, we should go.” Steve's voice is soft and his blue eyes are watery when the agent lifts his head from staring at the two prone forms. Phil watches mutely as Thor lifts up the body covered in his red cloak, cradling the small form to his chest. Loki steps away from the solitary figure lying on the sawdust and dirt as Bruce draws closer. The god walks over to Phil, horned helmet held in one hand and movements slow.

The agent meets Loki's ancient eyes and is surprised that they're hard, glittering in the dim light of the breached stronghold. “I tried,” he whispers, all the emotion that's drawing his face into sorrow doubly present in his voice. His image disappears in the next minute, blurring between steps.

The cargo hold of the plane back to headquarters is silent. Phil sits next to Clint's form, running a hand through the spiky hair. He doesn't let his eyes drift past the strong jaw and he astutely ignores the red-draped figure on the other side of Clint. Tony mirrors his position, arc reactor glowing bright enough so Phil can see the genius is absently stroking the back of Natasha's hand that he's got gripped in both of larger ones.

They land smoothly and the door drops down. The noise outside the cargo hold is loud, agents shouting, plane engines winding down. No one moves for a minute, wind blowing into the hold and whipping the cloaks up. Phil pulls it down, smoothing the fabric down over the muscled thigh. He watches Steve stand and turns his head to watch Nick Fury walk up the ramp. The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. stands at the foot of the bay, looking over all of them, weary and tear-streaked. Fury closes his eye and while his stance doesn't falter, they all see the weight settle on his shoulders.

“They were together?” Fury poises the question to the silence. He exhales roughly at Bruce's slight nod, walking over to the two forms stretched out. Tony steps back as the black man takes his place at Natasha's side and bends down. He slides an arm under her knees and pulls her to his chest as he stands upright. Phil steps aside as Steve picks up Clint, still covered in Thor's cloak. The two men lead the somber processional off the plane, Bruce and Thor following on either side of Phil, Tony bringing up the rear. The agents on the deck fall in line as the group walks past, steps heavy and slow.

Pepper Potts and the scientist Jane Foster wait for them near the doors to the Avengers' hallway. Phil watches them both put hands to their mouths, Pepper's face falling into relief when she spots her former boss dragging behind the blond giant. Tony goes straight to her, pulling her into his arms. Her sobs are muffled. Thor echoes Tony's movements, holding Jane close as she falls into him.

As Fury heads further into the bowels of the heli-carrier, Steve in step with him, Phil decides he can't do this. He turns left and walks to his room, feeling as if he's trudging through mud with each step a little bit harder to take. He swipes his access card, nudging open the door when the light turns green.

He takes a seat on the bed with its rumpled covers when his eyes catch sight of the empty quiver that stands lonely in the corner. Phil gives in to the tears that he didn't know he had, wrapping the duvet around himself. He eventually lays back on the mattress, exhausted and drained, and falls into unconsciousness for a few hours.

Sunlight shines into his eyes, waking Phil up from what he hopes is a supremely bad dream. He'd be willing to blame it on some dark magic from Loki, even though the god has been making an effort to get along better with the Avengers Initiative, if only for the sake of his brother. He turns to the other side of the bed and reality slams into him when there's no warm body next to his, just the other half of a cold bed. Phil hadn't disturbed them in his sleep, it still looks the same as yesterday morning when Clint laid there and kissed him with a lazy grin before Phil's first meeting of the day.

A knock on the door distracts him and Phil stands to answer it, belatedly noticing that's he's still in the same suit from yesterday, rumpled and dusty. He loosens his tie as he opens the door to Steve.

“We're burying them today,” the blond says. “How are you holding up?” Phil takes off his jacket and drapes it over the chair. The room seems colder than usual.

“How do you think?” Phil mutters, hand running over the cold pillow. He'd be willing to bet it still smells like his lover and picks it up to test that theory before he remembers Steve's presence and drops it. He looks at the bedside clock instead of at the soldier's blue eyes.

“I'll be back in two hours,” Steve says quietly, hand squeezing Phil's shoulder gently before he leaves the room. Phil sits back down on the bed and lifts the pillow to his face before realizing he is not a girl and still needs a shower. The water mixes in with his tears until Phil can no longer tell the difference.

Steve comes back with Bruce in tow. Phil picks out Clint's favorite suit to wear, the tailored one he last wore to their anniversary dinner. He doesn't think he'll wear it again after this. The burial is somber and grief weighs them all down like the rain clouds that are gathering above. Phil finds the weather more than a little fitting and turns away from the open hole in the ground as two junior agents begin shoveling dirt.

He walks around headquarters in a daze, seeing things but not really taking them in, dress shoes squeaking on the tile. His steps lead him to the gun range, the farthest stall from the door occupied. Phil steps into the room, earmuffs around his neck and walks to the weapons closet. His hand hovers over the compound bow in memory, but Phil knows he doesn't have the strength to draw it back more than once, maybe twice. He chooses a set of throwing knives, the balanced steel cool in his fist. He picks a stall and taps into the keyboard on the wall to change the paper target to one more appropriate.

Nick Fury fires again as the target in front of Phil changes. The field agent backs up a step and looks at the director. He's not firing his usual .15 needle gun, but has chosen the Black Widow's favorite handgun. The Glock 26 looks small in the large hands of the director; Phil looks at the throwing knives on the counter of his stall and understands without words. He picks up his weapon of choice and shifts into a stance his lover spent the better part of an hour coaching him on just last month and lets the knife fly in memory.


End file.
